


Hairwashing

by GillO



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillO/pseuds/GillO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy visits Spike to have a serious conversation. But it happens to be the night he's washing his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hairwashing

There were still ragged shreds of gold in the sky as Buffy pushed her way through the shrubs masking the dilapidated sepulchre. She breathed deeply, braced herself and drew back her foot.

No. Not this time. She had no need to catch him out, after all. For once he really hadn’t done much to make her grouchy.

She gripped the handle firmly and depressed it. Battered and warped though it was, the door gave way easily and the blackened boards swung open, revealing the gloomy space within. Cobwebs drifted in the fresh flow of air, and in the deepest shadows a pale, half-dressed figure could be seen, effulgent in the half-light.

She caught her breath for a moment, astonished as ever by his sheer beauty, then allowed the door to drift shut behind her. The being at the other end of the room showed no awareness of her presence, but reached out, back towards her, to an elderly refrigerator from which it extracted a bottle and a bag, holding both up above its head and peering at them blearily.

There was a nod and a sigh. Still apparently unaware, he crossed to the impressive marble tomb which formed the centrepiece of the room, and glared at the liquids in his hands, before frowning and sighing again, more deeply.

“Brooding like a bleeding poofter,” he muttered. “Just about the last sodding straw, last night.”

Buffy decided to announce her presence. “Talking to yourself, Spike? One of the first signs, they say.”

He twisted round and straightened up. She could almost hear the breath catching in his throat, as his face transformed into awe at his first sight of her, his eyes filling with glory.

Whatever. 

This was Spike – cloying, clinging Spike, who had a capacity for wonder which was just a little wearing right now. She looked down with a little grimace of disgust – blood and whisky, just as she’d thought. He held them out in mute offering.

“That’s just gross, Spike.”

“Didn’t think you’d want the blood, Slayer. But you’re welcome to some of the other.”

She curled her lip into a convincing expression of disgust. He didn’t need to know she felt any attraction to the amber liquid. 

“So, to what do I owe this honour? Bit early for you, innit?” He placed the bottle carefully on the slab and slung the blood-bag next to it. “Don’t usually get your itch for the hot dead meat till after your shift’s over.” He lounged suggestively against the wall, tongue behind teeth, hot as hell.

Buffy repressed her baser instincts and put her hands firmly behind her back. “Get your mind out of the gutter. That’s not what I’m here for.” 

“No? First time for everything I s’pose. So, not here to shag me or beat me up?” He paused, pondering, “No. I got nothing. Enlighten me.”

A cobweb hung from a spur of rock near the roof. Buffy stared at it in sudden fascination. 

Spike waited. 

Along the rough surface of the slabs beneath her was an iridescent trail of slime, left by some snail. Buffy examined it. In detail.  
“Out with it, Buffy. What’s eating you?” 

She jumped. “No-one! Nobody’s eating me!” 

Spike made a visible effort to avoid a smirk, but failed. “Can be arranged if you want, you know. All part of the servicing.” His lips widened to reveal the beautiful teeth. Teeth which at any instant could thicken, lengthen and plunge into her. She should never forget that. 

Though different words for that would be good. She shook herself, swallowed hard and looked directly into his face.

“Spike, last night was. Well, it was weird.”

“The party that never ended? Yeh, you could say that. Is that all you want. Post-party girly chat? Not qualified here luv. Go find your witchy pals.”

Was he actually telling her to go? The nerve. Annoyance gave her an adrenaline boost and the impetus to speak. “My witchy pals know. About us. About this thing we’ve had.”

“Thought you said we didn’t have a thing, Slayer. You were pretty clear on that point. Only this.” Suddenly he was close to her, his finger trailing lightly across her breasts. Her traitorous body reacted. “Peanut smuggling, love?” Spike’s tongue ran a lascivious line behind his upper teeth. 

She pushed hard and he sprawled away from her, snagging her wrist as he tumbled so that she landed awkwardly on top of him. The soft flesh, smooth skin and hard muscles sent her brain away to a happy place for a brief moment, during which he used the hand not trapped under him to draw her face down toward his own. For a second she moved with him, caught in the heat and cool of him. Only for a second.

“No! This is so not why I came. Get off me!”

“Not on you, pet. Other way round from where I’m sitting. Not that I am sitting.” He wriggled and his other hand came out and ran up her back. This was getting just a little too lively. Buffy struggled away, ignoring the disappointed expression which floated across his face.

Across the room some wrought-ironwork had become instantly compelling. Buffy moved to admire it. Spike was behind her, not breathing on her neck in a way that sent shivers more or less everywhere. “Come on, love. This is what you come here for, remember? You never did get to blow out my candles at that party of yours.” His voice was low, smooth, mesmerising. Was this what thrall was like? 

“No. No candles. Not now anyway.” She turned her back to the wall, to find him pressed up against her, the blue of his eyes close enough to drown in. “It’s like this. Tara knows.”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah. I sorta got that from some of the things she said. And?”

“Well, the way she was with Willow last night, I think it’s likely she knows too now.”

“And?” The mobility of his expression was entrancing – fear, hope, bewilderment all fought for dominance.

“And I think I’d rather we said something than let it come out that way. So I want you to come to the Bronze tonight. With me.”

“Don’t think I’m quite getting you there, pet. Another go-round on the balcony, that your idea?” He was forcing his voice to stay calm, but the tremble in it told the story well enough. He was fighting to avoid the obvious conclusion.

“No. And if you ever, ever mention that to my friends you won’t even fill an ashtray.”  
His voice dropped still lower, in pitch and volume, like molten honey the words flowed out, “You saying we’re going to tell them we do have a thing? Does that mean we do have a thing?”

“Seems that way. You coming?”

“With you? All the time, pet. Just give me the opportunity.”

She grimaced at the off-colour joke, then smirked. A giggle forced its way out, then another. In seconds she was shaking helplessly, leaning in to him, her cheek against his still, quiet chest. Then he laughed too, an infectious chortle that shook his entire body. “Who’d have known, love. All it took was a smutty innuendo and you’re mine.”

“Not quite that yet, Spike. But we might be on the way to that. Are you ready to find out?”

He held her thin shoulders lightly, pushing her far enough that he could stare into her eyes. She was acutely conscious of the blueness of his eyes, the lushness of his lips, and the intensity of his emotion shining from his face. “I’m ready love. I’ll be there. Just have a bit of business to get done first.”

At once she was suspicious. “Business? Not more of your stupid gambling activities?”

“ ’Snot stupid. I’ve won a lot of kittens in my time. But no, this is different. More personal like.” He waved at a bowl near the fridge. It was full of water – where did he get his utilities from? – and next to it a heap of white crystals and a small pile of paper sachets.

“I have to see about some demon eggs. And then,” she could have sworn he blushed, something pretty impressive from a being with no circulation, “I really was planning to stay in tonight. I have to do my hair. Wanna help?” He was looking away from her - that was one intriguing cobweb. Then he turned, heart back in his eyes, to face her.  
Personal, intimate time? Where would that go? Only one way to find out. And, you know, this was something Buffy knew about. An appeal from one non-blonde to another – irresistible. Buffy rolled up her sleeves. Not quite what she’d expected to do, but it beat burgers any day. She’d make herself useful. 

She had a good feeling about where they might be going, together.


End file.
